


A New Outlook on Life

by Rachello344



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Wing Grooming, but before season 9, not exactly canon compliant, probably takes place some time after season 7, roughly anyway I didn't exactly use any time specific details
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachello344/pseuds/Rachello344
Summary: After a witch's spell hits Dean, he finds himself able to see Cas's wings for the first time.  Unfortunately for Cas, his wings are more than a little disordered--hardly the state he wanted Dean to see them in.  What kind of friend would Dean be if he didn't offer to lend a helping hand?





	A New Outlook on Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for one of my dear friends! Happy Birthday Bezca!

Dean rubbed his eyes blearily, wincing at the bright sunlight.  Whatever spell the witch hit him with was nasty and strong.  _Damn_ , but his eyes hurt.  This hunt was supposed to be _easy._

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked, calling from across the clearing.

“Yeah, yeah, fuckin’ _fine_.  Just as long as we really got the bitch this time.”  Dean kept rubbing his eyes.  What had she _done_ to him?

“I can confirm, she is deceased, Dean.”

Dean smiled.  “Thanks, Cas.”  He opened his eyes, turning to face him, but he drew up short.  “What the—Cas, man, what the _hell_ happened to you?”

Cas frowned, tilting his head to the side like a bird, a raven maybe.  Those things were fucking _smart_.  “What do you mean?  We’ve been together this whole time.”

“No—I mean, yes, but—” Dean couldn’t find the words to describe what he was looking at, staring over Cas’s shoulder, wide-eyed.  Cas had large black wings.  He knew that objectively, of course, but, well, out of sight, out of mind.

Whatever the fuck that witch did to him, he could see Cas’s wings with perfect clarity.  And the last time he’d seen such disordered feathers, he was about four, and his mom was taking care of a bird that hurt its wing slamming into their window.

“Dean, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sam asked, concern heavy on his tongue.

“Cas,” he said, ignoring Sam, “you look like you’ve been through a tornado.  What happened to your wings?”

Cas, badass angel of the lord, smiter of witches and demons, blushed scarlet, and took a shaky step away from Dean.  “You can _see them_?”

“Dean, seriously, _what the fuck_.”

“Hell if I know, Sammy, but yeah, Cas.  I can see your wings.”  Dean frowned.  “I…  Can we…”  He shook his head.  No, no, too weird.  Crossing a line.  That would definitely be beyond normal bro stuff.  Definitely too much.

Cas sighed, apparently relieved.  “We should return to the motel.  And perhaps Sam should drive.  We don’t know what she did to your eyes, Dean.”

Dean winced, but he couldn’t deny Cas had a point.  “Fuck.  Fine, okay.  But don’t get used to it!”  He pointed at Sam.  Sam smirked, all smug superiority.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The minute my eyes are back to normal, I’m driving.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said, placating.

With that, they walked back to the Impala, complaining about their various aches and pains.  Dean couldn’t stop staring at Cas’s wings.  He wanted to straighten the feathers, until they were lined up properly.  And the more he stared, the more he could see how dull they looked.  Lotion wouldn’t work, but maybe some kind of oil?  Wings needed shit like that, right?

Cas frowned at him, his cheeks still a little red.  Dean tried to stop staring, but he couldn’t do it.  Cas’s wings were incredible, even in their disarray.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam booked his own room at the motel, shoving the other room key at Dean.  “I think the two of you need to talk.  I’ll see you in the morning, though.”  He jogged off, duffel bag over his shoulder.  “Good night!”

“What, no dinner?” Dean called after him, but Sam either didn’t hear him or ignored him.  Dean sighed.  “Well, what do you think, Cas?  Pizza or Chinese?”

Cas shrugged.  “Whichever you prefer is fine, Dean.”

“Pizza it is.”  He started off toward their room.  “If you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not gonna push,” he said as he closed the door behind them.  “You know how Sam gets about _feelings_ and shit.”

Cas nodded, sitting on one of the beds.  “In this case, I feel I must agree with Sam.  I… never wanted you to see my wings like this.”  Cas grimaced, turning his face away.  “It’s… mortifying.”

“What?”  Dean rolled his eyes, sitting on the other bed, facing him.  “Come on, man, you’ve seen me worse than this.  I mean, this is like a bad hair day.”

Cas faced him, frowning.  “No, Dean.  Wings are… important, to angels.  It’s much different than a ‘bad hair day.’”  Dean spared a moment to be proud of Cas for using air quotes correctly.

“If it’s that important, why haven’t you…”

“Groomed them?” Cas asked.  “Because I cannot reach the worst feathers.  Grooming is done between pairs, and I have not returned to heaven or seen another angel in a long time, Dean.”  He sighed, his wings sagging with his shoulders.

Dean licked his lips.  “Pairs, huh?  Does it have to be another angel?”  He leaned forward.  “Or does it just need to be someone who can see them?  I don’t know how long my eyes are like this, but I figure we got at least an hour, yet.”

Cas’s blush returned in full force.  “I… don’t know.  It’s rather intimate, Dean.”

“Intimate?  Like only couples do it?  Or can best friends do it, too?”  Dean tried to fight back his embarrassment, but it was hard.  He wanted to straighten the feathers for Cas’s sake, but he also just wanted to touch them.  He was surprised his control had lasted this long.

“Angels do not have lovers, Dean.”  Still, Cas hesitated.  “I would feel strange asking it of you.”

“You’re not asking,” he countered.  “I’m offering.”

Dean’s eyes were drawn to Cas’s mouth as he bit his lip.  “That is true,” he murmured.  “If you’re certain, then I would appreciate the assistance.”  Cas swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.  “If you’ll give me a moment to mentally prepare?”

“Yeah, man, of course.  I’ll order pizza.  Meat lover’s okay?”

“That will be fine, Dean.”  Cas closed his eyes, like he was meditating.

Dean ordered the pizza, keeping his back to Cas to give him some privacy.  Once the order was in, Dean took a moment to compose himself as well.  His heart was pounding behind his ribs, and he thought his hands might start to shake.

Too soon, Cas said, “I’m ready, Dean.”

“How do you want me?” Dean asked.  He faltered.  That could easily be taken the wrong way.

“You may want to kneel behind me on the bed.  That will afford you the greatest range of motion,” Cas said flatly.

_That’s what she said,_ Dean narrowly avoided saying.  “Great,” he said instead.  His voice wavered a little, almost cracking.  Was he _nervous_?  _What the fuck?_

Dean knelt behind Cas on the bed, shifting his weight to get comfortable.  Jeans were not really the best kind of pants for kneeling like this, but he’d manage.  Sucking on his bottom lip, he surveyed the damage.  Cas’s wings, while beautiful, were a complete mess.  Few if any of the feathers were at all aligned.  Just looking at them made his shoulders ache and his fingers itch.

“Start at the bottom,” Cas advised.  “The feathers will need to be realigned one by one, at first.  Once several rows have come into place, the rest will be much simpler.”

“Right, okay,” Dean said.  He touched the feathers near the bottom and Cas jolted like he’d been tazed.  “You okay there, buddy?”

“Y-Yes, it’s simply been awhile.  I merely forgot how… how it feels.”  Cas took a deep breath.  “My apologies, Dean.  Please continue.”

“Okay, but tell me if you want me to stop, okay?  I don’t want to do this if it’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you.  I’m all right for now.”

Dean nodded to himself and touched the feathers again.  Cas jumped a little, but not nearly as badly as before, so Dean continued.  He gently maneuvered the feathers, running his fingers along them like he was combing a girl’s hair back into place after they’d…

He shook his head.  _Focus_.

After a few layers, Dean fell into rhythm, shifting row after row of feathers, all the way up Cas’s back.  The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable.  Cas’s breathing was deep and even, like he could fall asleep at any moment.  Dean’s fingers felt pleasantly warm from touching his wings for so long.  They also felt a little oily, the higher he got.

When Dean reached Cas’s shoulder blades, oil seemed to seap between his fingers.  Dean frowned.  “Uh, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“This oil, should I spread it to the lower feathers or what?”

Cas’s shoulders drew up tight, the relaxed air shattering at once.  “Ah—that’s probably enough.  Thank you, Dean.”

“But,” Dean hesitated.  He hated leaving things unfinished.  “Normally, your wings are glossy, right?  With normal birds, it helps keep them dry when it rains, right?”

“Well, yes, but there’s no need for you to go that far.”

“I don’t mind,” Dean insisted.  “I’d like to do what you normally do.  Besides, it’s not like it smells bad or anything.”  It smelled a little like gun oil.  Dean liked it.

Cas shivered.  “If… If you insist, Dean.”

“You’re sure?  If you want to stop, I will, but if you want me to keep going, it’s no trouble.”

“I’ll tell you to stop if I need you to, Dean,” he said quietly.  “I want you to.”

Dean pressed his fingers close to the oily spot and dragged his fingers down, spreading the oil between the feathers as far down as it would go before starting again.  Cas shuddered under his hands with every pass, but he didn’t ask Dean to stop again.

Dean fell back into rhythm, the gun oil scent washing over him.  Gun oil and something like the smell of a monsoon.  Whatever it was, Dean liked it a lot.  Distantly, he wondered if Cas’s clothes smelled anything like his wings.  The times they’d hugged, he’d been a little too distracted to pay attention to what he smelled like.

Not that Dean was smelling Cas now, not on purpose anyway.  That would be weird, and probably crossing some kind of line.  It was just that Cas smelled so nice, he could hardly help but breathe a little deeper than normal.

He could think another guy smelled nice, right?  He’d admired men’s colognes before, and that wasn’t weird.  Or was it?

Dean licked his lips.  He didn’t realize, but Cas’s wings were already straightened and oiled; there was no reason for him to continue, but his fingers kept up their path, running over the feathers absently.

“I don’t want to lose this,” Dean mumbled, unthinking.

Cas turned his head.  His eyes were dark, his pupils dilated.  “I don’t want to lose this, either,” he admitted.  His voice was gravel caught in molasses, rough and slow in equal measure.

Dean licked his lips, his hands coming to a stop.  Cas’s eyes dropped to his mouth, staring.  Dean swallowed, swaying closer.  Cas licked his lips.

A knock sounded at the door.  Cas stood abruptly, and Dean fell backward scooting a few inches.

“The pizza,” Dean realized.  “Fuck, wallet.”  He tried to stand, but his legs were asleep.  He groaned, falling back again, as the painful static sensation shot through his calves.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he said again, with feeling.

“I’ll get it,” Cas muttered.  Dean passed him his wallet, squeezing his eyes shut.  Cas spoke briefly with the delivery man before returning, setting the box on the small table across from the bed.  “Here,” he said, “let me.”

Dean barely had time to even think about what he meant before Cas was massaging the feeling back into his legs.  Dean jolted, ticklish and twitchy both as Cas’s hands rubbed strong and firm along his calves.  When he stopped squirming, Cas stopped, removing his hands.  Dean stopped himself from whining at the loss.

“I should probably wash my hands,” Dean muttered, looking down at them.  They were still covered in the oil from Cas’s wings.

Cas touched his shoulder, and with a cool rush of _something_ , the oily feeling was gone.  “That should have removed it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean acknowledged.  “Thanks, Cas.”  He opened the pizza box, trying to ignore the awkward turn things had taken after being interrupted.  Although, Dean wasn’t entirely sure _what_ had been interrupted in the first place.

No, that wasn’t right.  He could hear his own voice acknowledging it— _the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid—_ but he didn’t want to think about that.  Cas was his friend.  His _best_ friend.  Sam would always come first, but there were some days when Dean wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t sacrifice himself for Cas, too.  He worried that Cas wouldn’t do the same; he worried that Cas _would_.

_Fuck_.  He should have ignored the wings.  He shouldn’t have offered.  He should have listened to Cas.  What was he supposed to do _now_?

“Dean,” Cas said, frowning, “Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Dean said too fast.  “Everything’s fine.”

Cas’s brow furrowed.  “Is this about a moment ago?  Before the pizza arrived?”

Dean flushed.  “N-No!”  Cas looked disbelieving and almost disappointed.  He winced.  “Okay, yes.  But it’s seriously not a big deal, Cas.  It doesn’t mean anything.”

Cas crossed his arms, watching Dean.  “What if I want it to mean something?”

“What?”

Cas sighed.  “I am more than happy to wait until you’re ready, Dean, but I would not have allowed just any friend to touch my wings.  Angels don’t have lovers, but I’ve fallen more than once.”  His lips curled just slightly upward, eyes fond and warm.  “I don’t think I need to remind you who brought that about.”

Dean flushed.  “Fuck,” he said.  “I mean, no, you don’t need to— _fuck_ , Cas, really?  So if Sam had been hit by that spell?”

“I would not have even considered letting him touch my wings so intimately.”  He considered the thought.  “I would have let him touch the tips; Sam is curious, and it would have driven him crazy otherwise.  But you are the only human I would ever let groom me, Dean.”

Dean shuddered.  That sounded weird as fuck, but he mostly felt relieved.  “Just me, huh?”

“Only you,” he agreed.

Dean laughed, clearly and embarrassingly nervous.  His hands were shaking, so he shoved them in his jacket pockets.  Cas took a step closer, just into his personal space.

“You aren’t normally interested in men,” Cas noted.

Dean shook his head, huffing another laugh.  “Not really,” Dean allowed.  He couldn’t remember the last time he let himself acknowledge it at all.  “Just you.”

Cas took another step forward.  Dean let him.  “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, voice rough.  “I think I’d like that.”

Kissing Cas was nothing like kissing a girl, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.  Cas was hard angles and strong arms and a firm mouth.  Dean pressed closer, gripping the back of his neck.  Cas smelled like a thunder storm, and Dean imagined he could taste electricity on his tongue.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he mumbled into Cas’s mouth.  They could have been doing this for _years_.

“I would wait an eternity for you, Dean.  A couple of years is the blink of an eye.”  Cas kissed him again.  And again.

Dazed, lips swollen, Dean’s stomach growled, and he remembered their pizza, but it was already getting cold.  He complained, but with Cas’s weight at his back and his lips on his neck, it was hard to mean a word of it.


End file.
